


If You Go Down To The Woods

by Vae



Category: A Knight's Tale, Robin of Sherwood
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:42:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A knight and his entourage take a shortcut through a certain forest in Nottinghamshire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Go Down To The Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely anachronistic, and I own it. With thanks to Fan' and Terryl for sterling beta work through the giggles.

"Stand!"

The voice rings out over the birdsong and the gentle rustle of the wind among the trees, harsh and commanding. It's the kind of voice Wat can't help responding to, glaring at his traitorous feet who've decided to stop all on their own. It's better than looking around for the source of that voice. If he's not seen the man before, he's pretty sure that he won't see him until he chooses to be seen. Which really isn't on. Voices should have the decency to come from readily identifiable sources.

At least it's shut that bloody writer up for once. Shut everyone up, in fact, slow creak and gentle jingle of harness telling him that Roland's brought Betsy to a stop. There's a quiet thump and crackle of leaves, and that's Kate getting down from the cart. Stubborn wench.

He tears his gaze away from his still not-moving feet to see a look of utter confusion on Will's face. For a man who's been masquerading as a knight for months now, Will's not very bright. Or maybe just not street-smart. 'Course, this isn't a street. Forests don't have decent streets. Another reason to hate them. No streets and too many disembodied voices. And not enough food.

Wat decides he hates forests.

"What's going on?" hisses Will out of the corner of his mouth, as if anyone else can tell him.

Maybe they can. Geoff's smirking, and he's got that light in his eyes. The one where he's about to say or do something completely incomprehensible, something that's amusing to him and him alone. The kind of something that lands Wat in serious trouble, and frequently in sputtering frustration. "Ah...I do believe we're about to be robbed."

Yeah. Wat really doesn't find that one amusing. Not considering some of the places he's been concealing coin around his person.

"Oh, bloody wonderful." Roland firms his grip on the cudgel he's taken to carrying and sets his shoulders. "I knew we shouldn't have taken this route. I knew it. Didn't I say that? Not through Sherwood, I said, there are tales about Sherwood. There are _ballads_ about Sherwood. But oh, no, we're going through Sherwood, it's the most direct route..."

From the look on Kate's face, Will doesn't manage to shush Roland in time. Women. Women and romantic fancies. Ballads don't mean pretty songs. Ballads mean vicious outlaws, and bloody robbery, and bloodier murder, and the kind of fellows Wat would really rather not encounter in a dark alley while he's wearing his life savings. It's the first time he's _had_ life savings. And just because this isn't an alley doesn't mean he wants to part with them.

The owner of the voice appears on the track in front of them, and it's all Wat can do to keep from laughing out loud. One man? One short, skinny man, with scruffy dark hair and a sword strapped at his waist but not drawn. One man, against the three of them. And the writer and the woman. "Just him?" Incredulity shows in his voice. "He thinks we're going to do what he says, when there's just one of him?"

One man's not going to be any trouble. For once, Wat can predict the future, or a short way into the future. It involves fonging and pain.

A hand settles on his shoulder, patting lightly. He bloody hates when Geoff does that. "Did you ever hear of a concept called narrative inevitability, Master Fowlehurst? One man, outnumbered. Actually, since it's _you_...probably not. Remember Antwerp?"

He's spent weeks trying to forget bloody Antwerp.

"What brings a knight into Sherwood?" the stranger challenges, and there's a bow. Oh yes, there's a bow. Trained directly on Will, which Wat's got no problem with right now, but how did he overlook that bow before? There's an arrow lodged in it as well, vicious looking thing with a barbed head.

"Interesting you should say that -" Geoff begins, before Will's elbow drives smartly into his ribs. "Oof. Right."

"Be silent, herald," Will says briskly. It's all Wat can do not to drag a hand down his face. That's Will going into full high and mighty mode. "We...uh. We make journey through this..._fair_ forest to, uh..."

The stranger's even less impressed than Wat, mocking smile blooming on his face, arrow never faltering. "There's a toll on this road for knights. Twelve silver pieces per head - or you can leave the heads."

"Twelve silver pieces? That's daylight robbery!" Wat explodes, before Geoff's hand muffles him. He bites it.

"Precisely, lad." Oh, of _course_ the stranger's not actually alone. Men are appearing out of the trees. Not many, but enough that Wat's view of the future changes. There's still pain. He's not so happy about who's going to be on the receiving end.

The man who's spoken looks like some kind of giant. Taller even than Geoff, but heavier. Shaggy. And maybe that's just a stick he's carrying, but it's a bloody big stick, and Wat would bet coin - small coin, he's not the gambler here - that the giant knows how to use it. Next to the giant is a bulkier man, eyes fizzing with suppressed rage, a knife gripped in one hand. Next to him, there's a boy with another bow, a woman with another bow and...oh Lord. A churchman. A monk. With another bloody big stick.

Wat's not a coward. Any man that suggests he is gets a damn good fonging until they know better. Still, there's something about a churchman makes him nervous. Antsy. He's a sinner, he knows that. He's committed some big sins. Gluttony, there's one. Repeat offender there. Wrath, yep. Sloth. Probably lust, as well. Oh, dear God in Heaven, lust. And last time he went to confession was...well. Not many chances for confession on the tournament circuit, except for the knights about to risk their lives. No one remembers that a squire might have sins to confess, oh no, matter of priorities, let the knights unburden their souls, don't want _them_ to die unshriven.

It's the last man that has Wat's feet lurching backwards into Geoff, though. The silent man. The man with danger in his eyes and threat in his posture and two swords, pointy curvy _sharp_ things, one in each hand.

"Oh, I'm not a knight!" Will protests, evidently deciding that with his coin and chances of wooing Jocelyn at stake, it's worth trying honesty. Stupid fucker.

The man with the knife shifts his weight and spits, an expression of derision twisting his features. "Of course you're a bloody knight. Only a bloody knight would travel through the forest with a horse. And armour. And a cart full of lances. And a fucking _retinue_."

"Will," cautions Voice Man. Knife Dog backs down with a growl. Another Will, that's all they need right now. "Gentlemen, if you'd care to accompany us?"

"Wait, Robin!" the woman interrupts, lowering her bow. "If he's a knight, he'll have patents. He's got to, for the tournaments."

Voice Man, who's obviously Robin, sends her the look of married men everywhere. "Not _now_, Marian!"

Her jaw juts out stubbornly. "But if he's not got patents, he's not a knight, and he's not...who we're looking for."

"She's right, Robin," the giant says with a nod. "No point feeding the wrong travellers."

That's the magic word, as far as Wat's concerned. If it means getting fed, then Will's a knight. For now, anyway. Doesn't matter which knight these people are looking for, or why, there are priorities here. Like food. And if Will being a knight means Wat gets fed... "He _is_ a knight, so you'd best mind your manners! This is the famous Sir Ulrich von Lichtenstein!"

It's worth it just for the look on Will's face, and Kate's semi-smothered laughter. Wat's expecting to hear protests from Geoff, or at least one of his endless rhapsodising introductions, but no, there's that expression on his face, the dreamy enraptured one that says he's found something he wants to write about. "Robin? Marian?" Geoff pushes past Wat and moves forwards, stopping only when two bows and a knife are aimed towards him, his hands rising, eyes darting between them, a half-smile curving his lips. "Do I have the honour of addressing Robin Hood?"

Snickers all around greet that question. "That you do, lad," the giant chuckles. "So you'd best mind _your_ manners."

Ulrich-Will backs up a step. "Robin Hood?" he queries, from the corner of his mouth.

"Robin Hood," Kate confirms, her eyes dancing. "He robs from the rich to give to the poor."

"We're poor," Roland insists immediately. "We're very poor."

Robin's evidently decided that this is all taking too long. "Enough. John, Tuck, check the cart."

"No need." Geoff unfurls a document from somewhere inside his coat as the giant and the monk get closer. "My lord's patents."

Ulrich-Will stares at him in disgust. Knife-Will lets out a triumphant laugh.

With the promise of food in the near future, Wat could almost kiss the smug bastard.

Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> I make no claim of ownership to Robin of Sherwood, A Knight's Tale, or any of the characters therein. No offence intended, no profit being made.


End file.
